


coffee and biscuits

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:22:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8507758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: Wherein Auba is still a football superstar, but Marco works as a barista in a local coffee shop and doesn't know anything about football.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Every ship needs a coffee shop AU, right?
> 
> This is for [thesunshinehoneyus](http://thesunshinehoneyus.tumblr.com/). Thanks so much for your support and for loving Pierreus and Auba so much.
> 
> EDIT: Big thank you to [Frauke](url) aka [ascience](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ascience) for the cover art!

*

  

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Marco startles and drops the hot press. The counter is nearby, but some of the hot liquid still splashes over the edge, hitting his hand with an almost audible sizzle. He lets out a loud yelp, cradling it to his chest.

 

"Oh, shit, are you okay? You should put that under some cold water," Marco hears, looks up  from his injured hand and immediately curses his luck. It just figures that the most embarrassing part of the day would also happen in front of the coolest person he's managed to encounter in his barista career so far.

 

"I'm okay," he says, eyeing the man's bronze fur lined coat with no small amount of envy. His old brown number isn't nearly as stylish, nor, he suspects, as warm. "Believe me, this happens every day."

 

He's not kidding. The small red circle burn joins almost a dozen similar ones, dotting the back of his hand in various stages of healing. Working with boiling hot and slightly old-fashioned machinery while being clumsy will do that to you.

 

"Sorry for startling you," the man says, still frowning in concern. Marco offers him his best reassuring smile and receives one in return. It's so unexpectedly devastating that he has to grip the counter for support.

 

"It's okay, don't worry, my own fault," Marco says. "What can I get you?"

 

"Cappuccino, please," the man says, and Marco nods in approval. Early mornings are best started with a cappuccino.

 

"Sure. For here or to go?" Marco asks, secretly hoping it's the former rather than latter.

 

"To go," the man says and Marco's disappointed sigh gets lost in the buzzing of the machine as it starts grinding beans.

 

He covertly studies the man over the counter as he presses the various buttons and moves containers around. His hair is curly, but cropped fairly short, revealing a big forehead and a wide nose. His eyes are liquid brown, almost as dark as the coffee beans Marco works with every day.  When he smiles, he shows all his teeth, almost too big for his face. His German is accented, though perfectly understandable. Marco wonders where he's from. Italy, maybe? His pronunciation of 'cappuccino' had been better than Marco could ever manage.

 

It's not until Marco's already pressing a marker against the surface of a styrofoam cup that he realizes. "Oh!" he says, "Your name!"

 

"It's Pierre," the man says, "but I go by Auba. Easier to spell."

 

Marco nods to himself, inks the name carefully onto the surface, careful not to smudge it.

 

In a matter of minutes, he's got the drink assembled and topped with a respectable amount of foam. That part is always tricky with a cappuccino. He dusts some cocoa powder carefully over the top and closes it with the lid.

 

"Thank you," Auba says, his eyes crinkling with the force of his smile. Marco ducks his eyes away with the beginnings of a blush. Their hands meet when Auba hands him his money. "I guess I'll see you around?"

 

"Whenever you need your coffee, I'll be here," Marco says, awkwardly solemn. "I hope you enjoy it."

 

"Oh, you too," Auba says, and Marco watches in fascination as pure horror passes across his face, "I mean, uh, enjoy your day?"

 

"Sure," Marco says, unable to contain his delighted smile. "You too."

 

The door closes after Auba with a jovial jingle and Marco sags against the counter, awfully light-headed. Then he spots the wrapped up complimentary biscuit and smacks his forehead in disgust with himself, for what worth is a morning coffee without a buttery complimentary biscuit to go with it? Marco sets it aside mournfully, suddenly aware of the throbbing pain of his burn.

 

The bell jingles again and Marco looks up hopefully, but it's not Auba, returning for his complimentary biscuit. Instead, it's a harried looking university student, glaring blankly at the counter in a way that tells Marco that he better get some caffeine down his throat, and fast.

 

He heaves a quiet sigh and gets to work.

 

*

 

Auba doesn't come the next morning and Marco can't stop himself from frowning every time he spots the stack of complimentary biscuits.  
  
In fact, It's three days after the first meeting before Auba comes back to the coffee shop. It’s a brisk morning, washed clean by yesterday's rain. Marco turns round too quickly when he hears the familiar "Hello," and slams his side against the sharp corner of the counter. The pain is forgotten in favor of his most welcoming smile.  
  
"Hi!" he says, and, "you came back."  
  
"I needed a few days to recover from 'you too'," Auba says wryly. "Can I get another cappuccino?"  
  
They chat about the weather as Marco prepares the coffee, and then they shout about the weather over the grinding coffee beans. Marco doesn't ask before scrawling Auba's name on the styrofoam cup and gets a delighted grin in return.  
  
"Here, before I forget," Marco says, pushing two packets of biscuits into Auba's hands along with the coffee. "I owe you one, from before. They're really great, I wouldn't want you to miss out on them."  
  
The biscuits are amazing. Marco choose them, and they're a lot better than ordinary complimentary biscuits. You can actually taste the butter, and they're soft but firm enough to not crumble in your bag.  
  
"Ah...my nutritionist won't be happy with me." Auba starts and then immediately unwraps the biscuit when he catches sight of Marco's crumbling expression.  
  
"They're very good!" he says through a mouthful of crumbs.  
  
Marco beams and hands him a napkin.

 

*

 

“So, are you a football fan?” Auba says, causing Marco to drop the milk container at the sudden noise. He manages to catch it just before it smashes on the floor, which means he’s getting better at predicting his own clumsiness.

 

“Huh?” Marco says, additionally blindsided by the gold embroidery on Auba’s faux leather jacket. It looks like flowers. Nobody else on the planet would be able to pull it off.

 

“The sign outside? Isn’t it 50% off today for anyone wearing a Borussia Dortmund jersey?”

 

“Oh!” Marco says, already going through the motions of preparing Auba’s cappuccino. “That’s on orders from the owner. She’s a big fan. I never really got into it, I know just enough to recognize the jersey and hand out discounts. Hard to escape it entirely in this city.”

 

Auba mutters something in French, but the grinding of the beans in the machine cuts him off.

 

“I played volleyball instead, and handball,” Marco says, feeling compelled to keep talking. Auba is unusually quiet today, and he looks a little tired. “I played field hockey during my university days. Now I just play on the weekends sometimes. And I still have all my teeth, which is rarer than you might think.”

 

This finally gets Auba to laugh and some of the tension in his shoulders unwinds. Marco allows himself a mental fist pump, and carefully pours in the frothed milk into the coffee, forming a leaf pattern. It’s as far as his coffee art goes, but he’s getting better.

 

“I never asked what you studied?” Auba asks and smiles wider when Marco presents him with his wrapped biscuit.

 

“Graphic design,” Marco says, smiling at Auba’s quiet ‘oooh’, “I got some work after I graduated, but nothing permanent and nothing that could pay the bills. So, I work here in the mornings, and as a freelancer in the afternoon. Nothing particularly exciting.”

 

‘Nothing like yours, probably,’ is what he actually means. He knows he couldn’t possibly pull of any of the outfits Auba looks so comfortable in, but he also knows for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to afford most of them anyway.

 

“I think it’s great,” Auba says, and something in his quiet tone makes Marco blush. “It suits you.”

 

“Thank you,” Marco says, equally quietly.

 

They’re looking at each other across the wide gleaming counter, the radio playing quietly in the background, and everything about it feels like a moment. Auba opens his mouth, as if to say something, but is cut off by the bell that rings when the doors open.

 

“I have to go,” Auba says, sweeping the cup off the counter in a hurry, “I’ll be late for work.”

 

And then he’s gone before Marco can ask him where that is.

 

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice the excited mutterings from the customers in their yellow jerseys.

 

*

 

The newest addition to the coffee shop is a plasma TV stationed on one of the walls. It’s apparently so they can broadcast football matches during the evening shift, but Marco never works that one, so he mostly watches various cooking shows when there are no customers to serve.

 

He’s at work extra early this morning and wearing one of his best shirts under his apron. It’s ten minutes till Auba usually comes in for his morning coffee, but Marco’s almost knocked down the paper cup stacks twice already.

 

He’s planning to ask Auba out today.

 

Or, actually, he’s just going to test the waters. Asking Auba out on a date seems much too adventurous a thing to attempt without at least a month of mental preparation. As it stands, his friend Marc has grown tired of hearing about Auba all the time and was refusing to hear anything more until Marco did something about it.

 

(Which is frankly insulting, because Marco listened to him wax poetic about the hot university librarian in Barcelona for months until Marc was finally confident enough in his Spanish to say hello. At which point he realized that Rafael spoke excellent English. They’re dating now.)

 

Anyway, bottom line, Marc is an awful friend, and Marco is going to try to figure out if Auba had been flirting accidentally or on purpose. Hence the nervousness.

 

The bell over the door of the coffee shop rings. Marco knocks over one of the sugar holders, scattering brown packets all over the countertop. He sweeps them onto the floor with a quick motion, just in time.

 

Auba looks awful.

 

Well, okay, he looks incredible, like he always does, and it looks like he got a haircut and his jeans are nicer than everything in Marco’s wardrobe combined. They have little crystals on them.

 

But, Auba looks a little wild around the edges, and he doesn’t smile when he comes in, which makes Marco automatically worry for his health and safety.

 

“Good morning?” he asks tentatively, once it becomes obvious that Auba is preoccupied with fidgeting and staring at the wall a few centimeters left of Marco’s ear. Auba jumps, startled. “Are you okay?”

 

“No,” Auba says, “I mean, yes, I’m fine, I’m great, perfect.”

 

He doesn’t look okay, but Marco nods anyway.

 

“Right. I’ll get you your usual then-”

 

“Go on a date with me!”

 

Marco freezes mid-motion, slowly looking from the coffee machine to where Auba’s standing.

 

“I mean... _merde_...I’m sorry, I did this wrong,” Auba says, taking a deep breath, at which point Marco cuts him off, knocking down the plastic cup covers in his haste.

 

“Yes! I would love to! I would love to go on a date with you!” Marco practically yells, his heart fluttering in his chest at the bright smile that’s slowly spreading across Auba’s face.

 

“Oh, great! I...yeah...this was easier than I thought it would be. When can I pick you up?”

 

Silence. Marco has frozen again, standing in the middle of the coffee shop, amidst packets of sugar and plastic cup covers, and staring at the plasma TV on the opposite wall. The TV that’s currently showing Auba receiving the African footballer of the year award.

 

“Auba,” Marco says softly, surprised at how steady his voice is. “Are you a football superstar?”

 

“Uh,” Auba says. “I suppose that depends?”

 

“Auba.”

 

“I score a lot of goals and drive a Lamborghini. I don’t know if that makes me a superstar?” Auba says, and Marco finally tears away from the Auba on screen, to the Auba in his coffee shop, who looks decidedly less confident.

 

“You have a Lambo?” Marco asks, still reasonably convinced he might faint in the next thirty seconds.

 

“Yeah,” Auba says, cautiously, “it’s golden.”

 

“It’s golden,” Marco lets out a disbelieving laugh. “And just to check, you want to go on a date with me?”

 

“Yes! I mean, if you still want to,” Auba says. “I swear I was going to tell you about,” he waves at the TV, “that.”

 

“It’s okay,” Marco says, quietly, even though it isn’t, not entirely. But the smile that Auba aims in his direction makes the last of his anxiety melt away. “Are you going to pick me up in the Lambo?”

 

“I’ll pick you up in whatever you want.”

 

“How about tonight?” Marco asks.

 

“Tonight?”

 

“Our date. Can you come pick me up tonight?” Marco says. His smile is so wide, it feels like his mouth might stick that way.

 

“Yeah,” Auba says, softly, grinning back. “I can pick you up tonight.”

 

They grin at each other for a moment, before Marco remembers the folded over piece of paper in his pocket.

 

“Oh!” he says, thrusting it in Auba’s direction, “Here. So you can call me. And text. And stuff. For our date.”

 

Auba nods and takes out his phone, carefully copying the number into it. His hands shake a little, and he keeps glancing up at Marco, almost like he’s afraid that Marco might disappear or change his mind.

 

Marco has absolutely no intentions of doing either.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes it out to see an unfamiliar number.

 

“That’s me,” Auba says, and Marco immediately saves the contact and then send it to his email, just in case he manages to lose his phone between now and tonight.

 

And then all of that is done and he and Auba are grinning at each other like complete lunatics, but Marco can’t seem to stop, because this ridiculous man and his fur tipped boots have just asked him out on a date and they’re picking him up in a golden Lamborghini, and he has no idea how this became his life, but he’ll absolutely take it.

 

“I’m going to be late for practice,” Auba says, suddenly, eyes darting to the clock above Marco’s head. “Sooo late for practice.”

 

“Okay,” Marco says, softly, as Auba starts to back up, eyes still firmly fixed on Marco, “I’ll see you tonight.”

 

“Absolut-”

 

Auba trips over a chair and lands in a heap on the floor.

 

There’s a moment of shocked silence before Marco rushes out from behind his counter.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks, helping Auba to his feet and patting him down as if he’d be able to feel any broken bones or bruises over his clothes. Auba nods, still a little wide-eyed. Marco realizes he’s been clutching at his forearms and lets go abruptly.

 

“I’m okay,” Auba says, his expression melting into something soft and fond that makes Marco warm right down to his feet.

 

“You better be. I don’t want to be chased by people from your club for accidentally injuring you. They need you this season.”

 

“I thought you didn’t know anything about football?” Auba asks with a raised eyebrow.

 

“I don’t!” Marco says, blushing. “But I might have to now. I’m invested.”

 

“You are?” Auba says, hopefully, and Marco nods furiously.

 

This time, Auba makes it to the door without injury, and Marco watches him go, feeling buoyant. He turns once, just in front of the shop window, and waves. And then he’s gone and Marco can take a breath for the first time in what feels like an hour.

 

He’s just about to turn back to his counter, but the bell jingles again, and then Marco feels Auba’s hand, gentle on his cheek, tilting it up for a kiss that makes his toes curl.

 

They break apart with a gasp and Auba says, “I couldn’t go without doing that, I’m so sorry, I should have asked first.”

 

“It’s okay,” Marco says, and Auba lights up with a grin. “I wanted you to. And you’re going to be really late for practice.”

 

Auba’s eyes widen and he’s gone in a flash, the coffee shop door closing behind him with a loud ‘thump’.

 

Marco reaches up to touch his lips, a little dazed, a lot ridiculously happy, and blushing furiously.

 

Everyone in the suddenly very full coffee shop applauds. There are even some cheers.

 

Marco hides his blushing face in his hands and groans.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Affectionately known as 'three times Marco almost injured himself because of Auba and one time Auba almost injured himself because of Marco,' or, two grown men act like complete idiots for almost 3k words.
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr](https://neyvenger.tumblr.com/)


End file.
